You bleed bored,
Holes ooze zero love.
You feel sod-all;
The crust of pavement, the chamber's floor.
Eat your fill.
Search and destroy the perceived point,
There's a gridlock in front.
Greased fingers crossed grisly faces.
You rest the scenic;
Revelling in limit-testing the rebelling.
Rules for you, rubles for you, and oh, for you, rubble's for you too.
Is that crimson cinders on your calcium plates?
Inflate the price,
Pilfer from the remainder.
Panic's the trade
Mark the oxygen.
Where's the AR-15 to keep the peace?